One More Time
by AbhorsenSabriel87
Summary: A simple crossover between PROTOTYPE and inFAMOUS. Simply a crash-and-bang cross. One-shot for now. Rated T for language.


Well, here we go! This is just something really random that will (likely) be explained in other stories later (once I actually finish the games).

Anyway, enjoy the crack-ish crossover.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Mercer (PROTOTYPE), Cole McGrath or Zeke Jedediah Dunbar (inFamous).

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_Huh, this is new._

Flying over the city, a soldier dressed in combat fatigues stared out from the cockpit of his helicopter, looking from behind the green tinted glass of the night-vision goggles issued to all infantry men in the recent crisis. He was average height and weight, nondescript in every way, looking exactly like every other soldier processed out to deal with the infected and plague outbreaks.

Though, what he was doing over Empire City instead of New York was another matter entirely.

_Is this place infected, too? I thought they contained it after Penn Station…_ Shaking his head, the soldier gave his code to the computer, which relayed it to the ground forces keeping the quarantine stable. Maybe there was someplace for him to hide in here… No one would recognize him in another quarantine zone.

Glancing to his right, he gave a disdainful sniff at the corpse back behind the pilot's seat. _Maybe I should have just consumed the bastard,_ he thought, turning back around as once again his mood was fouled. _Then I wouldn't have to ride with the stink all the way. But no way do I want that fucker's memories… Who knows what other lives he's fucked up besides mine and Elizabeth's._

A fleeting memory passed through, enticing him to dig deeper into the knowledge he'd locked away to preserve his own sanity. The feeling of a woman's touch on his arm sent tingles across the pseudo-flesh, and he shivered while savoring the sensation. A portion of his mind tried to warn him of something, but focusing on the simplistic kept him from recalling everything… everyone… every memory…

Before he'd realized what happened, he shifted back into his original appearance, the appearance he'd taken after being released. Black and red flowed and rippled into skin and cloth, giving the soldier the form of a young man, thin and tall with white hair and a gaunt shadow. A sweatshirt and jacket hid his angular features and pale hair from view, but it did little to hide the powerful muscles that lurked beneath. Heaving a sigh, he looked out over the linked islands that made up the new city, then switched the helicopter to auto-pilot. He wanted some fresh air.

0-0-0-0-0

"Goddamnit! Those assholes just don't give up!" Seething as he felt the needle go in again, Cole McGrath grumbled once again about the gangs infesting the city. "I mean, I kill enough of them and send even more to Em and the rest of the cops," he growled, watching as the electricity formed and flicked over his calloused hands. "You would think that they would get the damn message."

"Well, you never know with crack-heads, man," the guy behind him answered, shrugging slightly before tying off the knot and starting another stitch in the most recent bullet wound. "They still think they're on top of everything, despite that Sasha bitch being out of the running. Gotta wonder how they're still getting bullets though."

"Yeah, no shit." Twitching as the needle came out and puckered the wound, the young man flexed his hands, itching to get back into the street. Empire may have come a long way since Ground Zero and the plague, but people were still dying and the Reapers were still trying to control all of the Neon District that they could. It'd only been a year and a half… there was still a lot to do.

"Anything from Moya?"

"Not yet. She hasn't gotten back from that conference yet. Apparently a similar plague broke out in New York a few months ago, but it's a lot worse. Place got nuked."

The man behind him gave a low whistle, looking over his gold-rimmed shades at the courier in front of him. "Shiiiiit," he muttered, applying an anti-bacterial onto a cloth before sticking it onto his friend's shoulder. "Would hate to see that happen here."

Sitting up straighter to allow the other man room to work with the bandages, Cole looked out the window of his apartment below Zeke's rooftop. As much as this city hated him at the beginning of this whole mess (and for good reason, he thought), they'd really toughened up and gotten behind him to deal with the gangs and crooks running rampant. The Dust Men worked with the cops now (having no leader to force them into crime); the First Sons were all but obliterated with Kessler and Alden gone; and Sasha was dead, leaving the Reapers with no leader and hardly any way to increase their numbers efficiently. Moya had told him that as long as the situation was under control, the city would never be a radiated wasteland, and so far she'd kept her promise.

But it was a long way from being the way it was before… before the biggest mistake of his life.

"_I want… I want to go back to the way it was before, Cole. But… I know I can't. I… I love you, Cole. I'm so sorry."_

Shaking his head, he stood up and put his shirt back on, favoring his left shoulder as he did so. His body would heal in a couple of days, but his heart still hadn't recovered from her death. He waited patiently, just like Kessler told him to, training and keeping up on enhancing his abilities.

He would _not_ let that thing destroy his life, too.

"It's not going to happen here," he growled, shrugging on his jacket and zipping it up. Despite the summer heat, he felt better having the coat on. Besides, it had enough bullet holes and loosely stitched gashes to keep him cool while running. "I'm not letting Kessler's future come true, Zeke. I can't let her death be in vain."

The Italian man sighed, shaking his head. "I know, brother. I miss her, too." Neither said anything, choosing not to recall the events that lead to the end of a long, hard battle. Instead, Zeke only left, muttering something about checking if the boss had any work for him.

Cole wanted to leave, too, but something just pulled at him to stay out of the light today. He'd done enough for one afternoon. Sitting back down on the couch, he stared at his hands, looking at all the scars and calluses caused by years of parkour. Electricity sparked lightly over the roughened skin, and he ran his hands over his face and scalp, vaguely aware of the strawberry-blond hair that had grown into a mock crew cut over the months.

He was so damn tired, but he couldn't rest yet. Not until everything came and went like it was supposed to.

Not until he'd stopped Kessler's future from coming.

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Standing atop the helicopter was probably his first mistake. Well, technically it wasn't on _top_ of the flying metal deathtrap, more like outside the pilot's door. Even still, probably not the best place for him to be.

Especially because people started _shooting_ at him.

Since he couldn't get out of the way (even though it couldn't kill him, it still hurt like Hell), he decided to do something a little bit better. He jumped off.

Well, to be honest, it wasn't the _best_ idea, but it kept him from being blown up with the helicopter. He always told people man was not meant to fly. He, at least, had something that could help with that. Spreading his arms, a red and black formation protruded from his forearms, allowing an easy glide that helped him dodge the rain of bullets coming from what looked like morons in red hoodies. _Damn kids. They're going to get themselves killed._

Then came the real hurter-- a rocket came out of nowhere and blasted him square in the chest, knocking the man off course. As he plummeted into the city, he saw a roof below (above?) him and braced for impact. This was gonna fucking hu-

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Cole had heard the shooting and jumped to his feet. He hadn't expected those damn Reapers to show up in this side of town again.

Then again, he also didn't expect the roof to cave in like that. Jolting around, his hand raised in a preemptive strike position with pale blue electricity crackling over the weathered flesh, Cole peered through the dust and broken concrete to see what had made the hole…

…and a guy shuffled his way through the debris.

"…Who the Hell are you?"

The man looked up, a scowl on his face before it broke into an almost cruel smile.

"Alexander Mercer. How about you help me with those hoodied goons outside?"

With a low groan, Cole looked up through the hole in the ceiling before jumping onto the back of the couch and climbing up. "Fine. Just don't get in my way. I got a way of dealing with these druggies."

"Sure thing. Though it's awfully rude not telling me your name."

"…Cole. Cole McGrath."

"The pleasure, I assure you, is mine."

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And there we go! Hope you enjoyed! :D


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